


California Girls

by adreadfulidea



Series: Hooray for Hollywood [1]
Category: Mad Men
Genre: F/F, Femslash, Spanking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-20
Updated: 2015-07-20
Packaged: 2018-04-10 05:13:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,707
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4378586
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/adreadfulidea/pseuds/adreadfulidea
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“An actress jumped off the H once,” said Kim. “Killed herself. I forget what her name was.”</p><p>Joyce looked at her for clarification but she was pushing her sunglasses up in her hair to get a clearer view of the sign. Apparently that was all there was going to be to the story. L.A. was filled with tragedies, it seemed. Dead movie stars all over the place. She supposed that must have been true of New York as well, but that city had moved too fast for ghosts.</p>
            </blockquote>





	California Girls

**Author's Note:**

> Title from the beach boys song. This takes place about the summer of 1971.

 

 

Joyce headed to Los Angeles with her camera in her carry-on and a new job waiting for her. She sold off all her furniture before the move and spent the first two weeks in an empty apartment, sleeping on a couch that her cousin Kimberly had donated and eating sitting cross-legged on the kitchen floor. Later she picked up decor from yard sales; tall lamps with bulbous glass shades in blue and yellow, a wooden bedframe that had shelves built into the headboard, a green table for the kitchen and a couple of lightweight chairs. She bought pictures galore because they seemed to be everywhere - framed Photoplay covers of red cheeked girls in cloche hats, a sketch someone had done of the Watts Towers, and - gloriously - a mint condition signed print of Dietrich in top hat and tails. She hung them all in her living room, except for Marlene who got to live in the bedroom because she was special. Three months in the city and the place looked almost civilized.

On one of these expeditions Kim asked her if she’d seen the sign yet. Joyce told her no and Kim immediately headed for the hills.

“It’s an L.A. tradition,” she grinned, putting the car into gear. “Everyone has to see it.”

Heat came off the road in waves as they drove along. Kim had a convertible like so many people did out here, a white Nash Rambler that Joyce thought resembled a fridge on wheels. They parked with a good view of the sign and leaned back against the driver’s side door, the hot metal tingling through their shirts.

“It’s bigger than I would have guessed,” said Joyce. The sun was just starting to set, a thin line of pink growing at the horizon and dark blue and cloudless above that.

“An actress jumped off the H once,” said Kim. “Killed herself. I forget what her name was.”

Joyce looked at her for clarification but she was pushing her sunglasses up in her hair to get a clearer view of the sign. Apparently that was all there was going to be to the story. L.A. was filled with tragedies, it seemed. Dead movie stars all over the place. She supposed that must have been true of New York as well, but that city had moved too fast for ghosts.

“Why’d she do it?” Joyce asked.

“Oh, I dunno,” said Kim. “People do crazy things.”

On the drive back Joyce couldn’t help thinking that the palm trees looked like streaks of shadow against the red sky. It was eerie. Or maybe she just missed home.

 

 

She called Peggy on Fridays and demanded to know everything that was going on.

“I’ve worked the past three weekends,” Peggy said. She sounded like she was eating something. Joyce suddenly recalled her sitting at her desk, chewing on those dumb violet candies to psych herself up for a presentation, and missed her powerfully.

“Did your social life die the minute I left?” Joyce asked.

“Wait, I do have something! Abe ran off to join some hippie farming collective thing. I saw his sister in the grocery store recently. She told me.”

“Oh my god,” said Joyce. “Abe on a _farm_. I wish I could see it for myself.”

So that was a good week.

 

 

 _Los Angeles_ magazine covered local culture and local culture was movies, so Joyce ended up at more than a few industry parties. She was attending one when she ran into an old friend.

It was a soiree for a Swiss director and his latest pet project, a film about a family of battling winemakers called _Lesser Known Saints_. It wasn’t formal as far as such things went. The party was outside under a canopy and Joyce was there in a semi-official capacity, trailed by the magazine’s photographer and helping herself to free food.

She was leaning over the fruit tray - lots of grapes, naturally - when Larry let out a low, appreciative whistle. “Will you look at the legs on that one,” he said.

Joyce rolled her eyes but she did look. Larry was a pig but she couldn’t fault his taste.

It was Megan Calvet. She was wearing tiny yellow shorts - Joyce was going to be sad when those went out of style - and a loose, crocheted top.

“Watch and learn, Larry my man,” Joyce said, and went to her.

She could feel him glaring at the back of her head when Megan kissed her cheek in greeting.

 

 

Megan took her around the crowd, their arms linked, and introduced Joyce to everyone that she knew. “This is my friend Joyce from New York,” she said each time, “she’s a photo editor at _L.A._ magazine.” Always with her job attached. When Joyce turned curiously towards her, she smiled wide and said, “I’ve been learning to network.”

They nabbed champagne from a passing waiter’s tray and found a quiet spot to catch up. Megan leaned back against a tree with those impossible legs stretched out in front of her. “How is everyone?” she asked. “I’ve lost touch with all of New York.”

“They’re all good,” said Joyce. “Peggy and Stan are going on some road trip in a couple of months. I heard Ken quit Dow and now he’s writing full time. Oh, and, uh - Ginzo’s out. He’s much better, Peggy says he’s almost like his old self now.”

“I’m glad to hear it,” said Megan. “He should stay the hell away from advertising, in my opinion.That whole world is terrible.”

“Yeah,” said Joyce. “He’s considering going to school - to college, for real. He never did before.”

“So what brought you to L.A.?”

Joyce shrugged. “Job offer. Much better money, I’ll admit. And I thought that a change of scenery might be fun. How’s Tinseltown been treating you?”

Megan fiddled with a ring on her finger, spinning it around. “It is what it is. I’m getting a little long in the tooth to break into the business, or so my last agent told me.”

“Yeah, because I know when I look at you the first thing I think is: _god, she’s so old_ ,” Joyce shook her head. “They must be crazy.”

The corner of Megan’s mouth curled up. “If you say so.”

“I do say so,” said Joyce. “And I’m a fine judge. No audience on earth is going to complain about having you on their screens.”

She wondered if she was pushing it but Megan didn’t react like that was the case. Instead she ducked her head and, with a smile that fell between knowing and coy, glanced at Joyce from under her lashes. “Thank you.”

Well, that wasn’t devastating or anything. “Besides,” Joyce added, “what the hell would they know about it. Have you seen the guys running this town?”

Megan leaned forward. “Is it just me,” she said, “or do they _always_ look like a potato in a wig.”

 

 

Megan dropped Joyce off. Her car was a sleek little miracle of a vehicle, the kind of thing that Kim’s Rambler wanted to be. She looked exactly right in it, driving with her sunglasses on and the wind in her hair.

Joyce tilted her head back and enjoyed the breeze. She needed to get a car, and soon. Her old reliable had given up the ghost back in New York. Getting around L.A. without one was too annoying. “You know any good car dealerships in the area?” she asked Megan.

“I can tell you where I got this one,” she answered. “But that’s where my expertise ends.”

“No big deal,” said Joyce. “My cousin Kim’s a native, she ought to know. I’ll bother her about it.”

“Have you gotten out much since you got here?”

“Yeah, here and there,” Joyce said. But not as much as she would like; she’d been working a lot and setting up the apartment.

“We should do something,” said Megan as she pulled into the parking lot of Megan’s building. “I’m going to this party Saturday night - it’s kind of a favor for a friend, actually.”

“Favor?”

“You’ll see what I mean. Why don’t you come along?”

“Sure,” said Joyce. “That sounds like fun.”

“Great,” said Megan, beaming at her. “You might have to entertain yourself for a couple of hours, but I promise we’ll still get to hang out. Is that okay?”

“No problem,” said Joyce. “I make friends easily.”

“I’ll pick you up at seven,” said Megan as Joyce got out of the car. “And Joyce?”

“Yes?”

Megan put the car in reverse. “Wear something nice,” she called, flashing a grin at Joyce as she drove away.

 

 

Megan was thirty minutes late to pick Joyce up. She honked the horn and called up an apology; the apartment was a third-floor walk-up, so she could be heard easily through the window.

Joyce forgave Megan the minute she saw her. She was wearing a dark green gown that was as backless as it was braless; her hair was pinned up in loose curls that looked like they might fall enticingly down at any minute.

“I feel like I should have out on a tie,” Joyce mused as she slid into her seat.

Megan laughed. “I’m going to take that as a compliment,” she said. “You look great, don’t worry about it.”

The party was in the ballroom of a pricy hotel. The huge french doors opened to a courtyard covered in vines and surrounded by short, fat palms. A few people were sitting at tables in their finery having a drink, but most were inside mingling. It wasn’t a real young group. There were a lot of industry types and their wives.

Megan headed straight for the stage where the band was in the middle of an intermission. An auburn haired Bardot lookalike hopped down and rushed over.

“Tell me it didn’t get windy out,” she said. “This hairdo cost me ten dollars.”

“It’s fine,” Megan reassured her. “Tina, this is my friend Joyce from New York. She works at -”

“ - _Los Angeles_ magazine,” Joyce finished, and shook Tina’s hand.

“Hi,” Tina said. “Nice to meet you but I have to get going.”

“Go on,” said Megan, shooing her away. “I can take care of things here.”

“She’s an actress, too,” said Megan after Tina hurried off in a swirl of chiffon and perfume. “She’s got dinner with a producer, so I said I’d fill in.”

The guitar player helped Megan up on the stage and Joyce wandered away to go schmooze and get herself a drink. She wondered what position that girl had played in the band. Piano player? One had been sitting there unattended. Or maybe she was the chanteuse. She had dressed like one.

She was the singer after all, and as it turned out Megan had a very nice voice. She hummed low and melodic into the mic and launched into a classic jazzy standard. If anyone in the crowd minded the change in lineup they didn’t say so. Joyce suspected that Megan could have sounded like a dying cat and people wouldn’t have complained, not as long as they got to watch her move around in that dress.

Joyce got some drinks and some food and met a few people; but mostly she listened to Megan sing. She had real stage presence, too, relaxed and sexy. At one point she sat down at the piano and played _My Baby Just Cares for Me_.

“I had no idea you could play,” Joyce said after Megan was done and they were sharing a dessert together. “What else are you hiding?”

“You’d be surprised,” Megan said. She said it so wickedly that Joyce had to mentally re-calibrate and remind herself that no, Megan was _not_ flirting with her. No matter how much she wanted that to be true. “I took lessons when I was a kid. I don’t do it much anymore, it’s so old fashioned.” She peeked back over her shoulder, all glowing skin and elegant neck. “Kind of like this place.”

“Then let’s get out of here,” said Joyce. “I’ve barely seen the city. Show me your favorite spots.”

They went to a club that was filled with smoke and red light. Megan told the bartender to surprise them and he lined up two shots of absinthe, flaming sugar cube included. There was music, two drummers banging out a rhythm while a girl read poetry and it was sort of stupid but Megan and Joyce danced anyway. They pressed together, giggling, feeling the warmth of skin through their clothes. Megan smelled fantastically spicy, like honey and leather. Joyce misplaced her jacket and didn’t even care.

Somebody tried to cut in - a guy with a beard and long hair. Megan lifted a shoulder as if in regret and smoothly turned away. “Sorry,” she said. “Not tonight.”

It was getting past two in the morning when they went for coffee. There was someone smoking a hookah in the corner and the coffee was so dark that putting cream in the cup made almost no difference. They got it to go and Joyce felt exhausted and exhilarated the whole drive home, under a starless, dark blue sky.

“You should invite me up,” Megan said, and of course Joyce didn’t say no.

Instead she watched Megan’s long body move up the stairs ahead of her; instead she reached up and unpinned those curls when they got inside like she had wanted to all night. Her body was racing ahead of her brain, straight towards a truth that her mind hadn’t caught up to yet.

Megan sighed and shook her hair out. “This is the best date I’ve had in years,” she said, and kissed Joyce on the mouth.

There was an initial shock; Megan must have felt it because she pulled back with a crooked smile. “Surprised?”

“Don’t worry,” said Joyce, looking Megan in the eye. “I’ll get over it.” She put her hands on Megan’s hips and kissed just below her ear, softly.

“Hmm, said Megan. “I think I like that.

“Yeah?” Joyce said, and did it again.

“Oh, yes,” Megan said in a murmur. “I think I like that a lot.”

“ _I_ think you should take off those shoes so I can reach you.”

“Help me out?”

She knelt down and lifted the hem of Megan’s dress. The sandals were chunky-heeled and gold; Joyce undid the strap around the ankle and slid the shoe off. She stroked the arch of Megan’s foot with the pad of her thumb. Megan touched her hair with a gentle hand.

“Maybe you should leave one behind,” said Joyce, as she dealt with the other shoe. She ran a hand up Megan’s calf. There was a spot behind her knee that was intriguingly sensitive, that made her toes flex. “Like Cinderella.”

“We can just use the phone, these days. No more communicating in shoes.”

“Fortunate for us.” Joyce looked up. “You don’t have a bad angle, do you?”

“Come here,” said Megan, and pulled her to her feet.

Megan kissed in the same uninhibited way she did everything else. She liked when Joyce ran fingertips down the length of her spine, swaying forward with a soft exhalation of breath. So Joyce did the same thing with her sides, the curve of her ribs under thin fabric. This time Megan shivered and took Joyce’s face in her hands. She kissed deep and desperate.

There was really nothing to that dress; it seemed like it would melt off if water touched it. Or maybe the heat from Joyce’s hands was enough. She felt like she was burning up.

Megan pulled back with a gasp. Her mouth was red and her nipples were hard, easily visible - and Joyce had to touch her there, _had_ to.

Megan swallowed hard when she did. She pressed her lips to Joyce’s hair, clutching at the back of her shirt.

Joyce rubbed the points of Megan’s nipples with the pads of her thumbs. She tried to pull the bodice of the dress down - she wanted her hands on Megan, wanted her mouth on Megan - but it was a keyhole neckline that looped tightly around the neck, so instead she sucked her through the material. Now it was molded to Megan’s skin, indecent, covering nothing.

Megan jolted; “Fuck,” she hissed. “Fuck, oh my god.” She ripped at the front of Joyce’s shirt and a couple buttons popped off. “Bed. The bed, _please_.”

“If you insist,” Joyce said, breathless. She stripped out of her clothes on the way there and left her top and pants on the floor behind her.

She put her hand between Megan’s shoulder blades when they reached the end of the bed. Megan stopped and cast a backwards glance at her.

“Wait,” Joyce said, and dropped to her knees.

“Oh,” Megan, said. There was a shiver in her voice. She leaned forward, her hands on the bedspread.

Joyce rolled the skirt of the dress up over Megan’s legs and drew in a sharp breath. “Jesus _Christ_ , Megan.”

“I didn’t want to risk pantylines showing,” she said, and had the nerve to sound innocent about it.

She was beautiful everywhere, the smooth lines of her legs and ass and hips like something painted. Joyce would have said so if she wasn’t so charmed by the bare skin under her hands. She kissed the back of Megan’s thigh and hoped the message was clear.

Megan spread her legs eagerly. Joyce slid her hand between them, stroking through her curls. She traced over Megan’s clit with the tip of her finger, along the slick edge of her folds.

Megan squirmed. “Don’t tease,” she said.

“Alright, sweetheart. If you say so.” Joyce spread her apart with two fingers and licked between them. “Is that better?”

“ _Fuck_ ,” said Megan. “Yeah, like that.”

Joyce did it again; she pushed inside with her tongue, fucking her with it. She pulled back and blew a breath over glossy, reddening flesh. “You taste good,” she said.

Megan fell against the bed. Her legs were trembling but she kept her feet on the floor. Joyce chased a streak of wet up the inside of her thigh with her lips. She started in on Megan again, opening her up with fingers and mouth.

“Here, here,” she said, and slid two fingers inside Megan’s cunt. Jesus, she was hot inside. “I love the way this feels,” Joyce panted. “I do, I always have.”

Megan’s laugh cut off halfway, collapsing into a moan. “So do I.” She was balling the sheets up in her hands, pressing her flushed face against them. “Please don’t stop.”

Joyce had no intentions of stopping. The pulse between her legs was throbbing and insistent. She curled her fingers, trying to find the right spot, the one that would make Megan -

Megan cried out, pushing back against Joyce’s hand. “Again, do that _again_. Oh my god.”

When she did Megan whimpered; she rocked with Joyce’s thrusting fingers - slow at first, and then quicker, clawing at the bed and speaking french. The dress was bunched up around her waist, forgotten about. Her eyes were closed.

“Just a little more,” she pleaded. She grabbed Joyce’s free hand and pulled it down between her legs. “Can you - right here -”

Joyce rubbed her clit in slow, firm circles. Megan was shaking; she couldn’t seem to get words out.

“Good?” asked Joyce. “Megan, are you -”

“ _Yes_ ,” Megan sobbed, and came clenching around Joyce’s fingers. Her whole body went rigid, everything in her straining towards her climax.

Joyce just - she just _stopped_ , and looked at her. Hungry for every detail.

She slipped her fingers out carefully, smiling at the way Megan twitched. Then she climbed up on the bed beside her.

Megan rolled over and stared for a second blindly upwards. “That was… intense.”

“I might have been showing off,” Joyce said. She picked at a loose thread on the blanket. “Too much?”

“No, I … god, no. It was good.”

“I’m glad,” Joyce said. It made her a little smug. No, a lot smug.

Megan seemed to recover herself and sat up. She kissed Joyce in a sweet if uncoordinated way, and leaned back to pull her dress over her head.

“Sorry if I damaged that,” Joyce said. It looked expensive and she hadn’t exactly been treating it delicately.

“I’m not,” said Megan, and crawled into Joyce’s lap.

She was impatient - but not as impatient as Joyce was. They got Joyce’s bra yanked sort of half-off and tumbled back against the pillows. Megan was on top, between Joyce’s legs. She kissed her fiercely, pressing their hips together.

Joyce wrapped her legs around Megan’s thigh. She needed pressure, anything at all - she ached so badly, it was driving her crazy. She arched her back when Megan licked over her breasts, over the edge of her bra. It was all blurring together, a mess of heat and sensation.

She rubbed herself against Megan’s leg without shame, her breathing hitching. She was almost dizzy with need; it would have been enough, just that - only harder - a little _harder_ -

\- except that Megan decided to do two things. The first was to shove a hand under the waistband of Joyce’s underwear and grind the heel of her palm against her clit.

“Fuck,” said Joyce, and she couldn’t believe how cracked and raw her voice sounded. She bit her lip against a whine.

The second was to suck Joyce’s fingers into her mouth. The ones that been _inside_ of her.

That did it. Joyce came, clinging to Megan with every part of herself. She went totally limp afterwards. No desire to move at all; she wanted to stay skin-to-skin there in that bed forever. Even though they were both kind of sweaty and gross.

They had to get up eventually. It was a tragedy.

Megan craved a glass of water and Joyce went to open a window and let some of the pent-up air out. Lucky for them the bed was still there when they got back, rumpled and inviting. They curled up together.

“Do you mind if I stay the night?” Megan asked. She drew imaginary circles on Joyce’s collarbones with her fingernails. “I’m too wiped to drive.”

“Mi casa es su casa,” Joyce said, not wanting to examine the relief she felt.

 

 

The next morning was less awkward than Joyce would have expected. Megan made her breakfast, whipping up poached eggs with some kind of sauce made from leftover red wine like it was nothing.

“This is amazing,” Joyce said. She dipped her bread in the sauce and took a bite. “Where did you learn to cook like this?”

“My mother,” Megan answered. “She taught all of us, even the boys. I don’t usually bother with cooking, but it can be worth it. If you’re trying to impress someone.”

She made eyes at Joyce over the rim of her coffee mug; they went back to bed for another round. Joyce let Megan have the first shower afterwards. She lay in bed listening to the water running and wondered if she should ask Megan out for real. They’d had such a good time.

In the end she didn’t; for Megan this was probably just a little vacation, a temporary reprieve from her real life. That was fine as long as everyone knew the score.

So she didn’t ask Megan out. She kissed her goodbye at the door and didn’t expect to see her again.

 

 

“Did you do anything exciting lately?” Peggy asked, the next time they spoke on the phone. “Still miss New York? Or are you adjusting? The weather must be a benefit, at least.”

“I think I’m getting used to the place,” Joyce said.

 

 

Megan showed up again two weeks later. Not at Joyce’s apartment like she might have guessed but at work, sitting in the waiting room and reading one of the old issues they kept there.

She looked tanner and there were freckles across the bridge of her nose. Joyce wondered if she’d been to the beach.

“Are you busy?” Megan asked. “I can come back another time.”

“I could use a break,” Joyce said. “Want to grab coffee?”

They went down the street and got iced tea instead. There were rows of tables outside; one of them was under a short, fat palm so they drank their tea in the shade.

“Are you still looking for a car?” Megan asked.

“Sure,” said Joyce. “Did you research dealerships for me or something?”

Megan smiled and stirred the ice in her glass with the straw. “No, but I do have a friend who’s selling one. Want to take a look?”

“I’m assuming this isn’t a Rolls.”

“No, a Datsun. He’s selling for a reasonable price.”

“I’m not sure I’ve ever seen one of those.”

“They’re small,” said Megan.

“I don’t need anything big,” said Joyce. All she wanted was to get around town and not feel so landlocked. Maybe Megan’s friend would be asking the earth, but it was worth checking out. “Should I call him?”

“I can bring you up,” said Megan. “It’s no trouble.”

Megan walked her back to the office and hugged her before leaving. When Joyce turned around Larry was standing at the receptionist’s desk stealing a package of pens and giving her the stinkeye.

“That woman could have any man she wanted,” he said. “What the hell is the appeal?”

“Jealousy doesn’t become you,” Joyce said, shaking her head. “And you wouldn’t understand.”

Larry snorted. “Sensitivity? Talking about feelings?”

“No,” said Joyce. “I just give _fantastic_ head.”

 

 

Megan’s friend was an older Australian who lived in the hills. White and flat-topped, the house sat at the end of a winding driveway. It was more modest than most of the ones around it, but there were still two very expensive cars parked out front. Neither was the Datsun.

There was a voice coming from the backyard. Megan followed it, unlocked the gate and let herself in. A fat basset hound ran up to her, baying and gyrating his whole body along with his tail.

“Shush, Charlie.” She crouched down to pet him and he rolled over. When Joyce didn’t join in immediately he threw her a beseeching look.

There was steak sizzling on the grill and the man attending to it waved at them with a barbecue fork. He was grey haired, with glasses and a narrow face. “Tim said you’d be stopping by,” he said. “He’s in the garage, tinkering with some old wreck. Go on and get him, the steak’s almost ready anyway.”

“That was Bernard,” said Megan as they walked to the garage. “Tim’s the one selling the car.”

Tim was headfirst into an engine. He stood up and wiped his hands with a rag before extending one to Joyce. “Megan’s told us all about you,” he said with a big, knowing grin. Joyce felt her eyebrows raise in spite of herself.

“ _Tim_ ,” Megan said.

“Just teasing, love.” Tim said. He looked like a guy who spent a lot of time outdoors, sun-browned and a little craggy in a pleasing way. The lines at the corners of his eyes deepened when he smiled.

“Is this it?” Joyce asked. She didn’t quite know how to react to that but she’d always been good at changing the subject. She walked over to the other car and tapped the hood.

It was pretty nice; painted a bright, shiny teal and with a solid build. Certainly it seemed new. There was no visible wear and tear on it at all.

“She’s only a couple years old,” said Tim. “Want to take her for a test drive?”

Joyce went around the block a few times and then out on the road for about twenty minutes. She parallel parked, found an empty parking lot and practiced some quick turns and sudden stops. The car handled fine.

Back in Tim’s kitchen she wrote him a check while he scrubbed the grease out from under his fingernails. “Do you restore them?” she asked. “That one you were working on looked vintage.”

“It’s a hobby of mine,” Tim answered. “I was a mechanic at some point in my misspent youth.”

“Tim’s a cinematographer,” said Megan.

Tim laughed. “Or a cameraman. Depends who you ask. And how much credit they’re willing to give me.”

Bernard was outside piling the steaks on a paper plate. “Tim,” he called out. “Invite the girls for dinner.”

“Sounds like my other half wants company,” said Tim. “He always makes too much food. You two have anything better to do?”

They ate the steak with some truly excellent beer and baked potatoes in the backyard. Charlie kept circling around begging for scraps even though Bernard chased him off every ten minutes. He always came galloping back, ears flying behind him like a cape.

At the door Tim handed Joyce the keys to the Datsun. “Treat her careful, hey?” She looked at him for a long time, trying to tell if it was the car he was talking about.

 

 

“Want to get a drink this weekend?” Megan asked, standing beside her convertible. Her tone was so mild and uninvested that it had to be a put-on.

Joyce leaned back, her hands in her pockets. She thought about Tim’s face a few minutes earlier. “Why not now?”

“Now?”

“Come back to mine. We’ll have a nightcap.”

“It’s still light out,” Megan said. But she was smiling and she followed Joyce back to the apartment, both of them driving faster than they should have.

Joyce did take a bottle of vodka out of the freezer and poured them a couple of fingers each. They clinked their glasses together in a toast and drank.

“I owe you for this,” Joyce said, turning around to put the bottle away.

Whip-crack quick, Megan stepped forward and pressed her mouth against the back of Joyce’s neck. “I can think of a way to pay me back.”

“And that’s supposed to be _your_ reward?” Joyce asked. She should have played it cool, probably, but there was nothing cool about her when it came to Megan. Not when she walked her back towards the bed; not when she straddled her. Not when she tasted the sweet bite of vodka on Megan’s tongue.

“Can you something for me?” Megan asked. She sounded uncharacteristically timid when she said it.

“I happen to be taking requests tonight, yes.”

Megan hesitated before pulling her shirt over her head. It made her hair messy, which was incredibly endearing. The bra she had on was a plain white one, and Joyce would bet that meant she hadn’t been planning on this. That was _also_ endearing.

“Could you spank me?” she asked.

“Oh,” said Joyce, because that wasn’t what she had been expecting at all. “Yeah, I can do that. That sounds kind of hot, actually.”

Megan smiled slowly once she grasped that Joyce was serious. When they were in bed together she seemed to give off a constant aura of excitement; it fizzed up in her again as she sat up to peel off the rest of her clothes. She’d been to the beach for sure. Tanlines.

Joyce did the same. “How do you want to do it?”

“I’ll lie across your lap,” Megan said. “I’ve…. I like it that way.”

They got themselves rearranged - not without some awkwardness - and Joyce cupped the curve of Megan’s ass with her palm. She just let herself enjoy the feeling of soft, warm skin for a second. “How hard do I go? I’ve never done this before.”

“Start light,” Megan said. She was resting her head on her folded arms, totally comfortable. “Then go harder. I’ll tell you if it’s too much.”

Joyce lifted her hand and let it fall softly. She barely felt anything and was sure Megan hadn’t either, so next time she went faster. Put a little of her arm behind it. Somehow the stinging of her own skin surprised her; she hadn’t been thinking about that part of it.

Megan exhaled. Her eyes were hooded and languid. “Like that, perfect.”

Joyce did it again. Megan’s skin was heating up; already there was a rosy mark where Joyce’s hand had been. Each slap made her jump, like she wanted to get away - but then she would push back, waiting for the next blow to fall. Needing more.

Spread out like a fucking banquet, lying boneless against the sheets with her eyes closed. Joyce hit her hard, she thought maybe too hard - but Megan cried out and absolutely _writhed_. She was biting her lips.

“God,” she said. “Oh god, do that again.”

So Joyce did, the smack of flesh on flesh a counterpoint to Megan’s panting breath. Because she _was_ panting, she was grunting out startled moans, half-formed sharp little things, she was making so much noise that she stuffed her own fingers into her mouth -

“There’s no one upstairs,” said Joyce. She squeezed Megan’s ass cheek. “The guy next door works graveyard. You can be as loud as you want. And -”

She brought her hand down cruelly, fingers spread.

“ - _uh_ -” Megan’s eyes popped open. She whined around her fingers.

“ - I want you to.” Joyce’s blood was buzzing. Her stomach was tight with want; she and Megan were both wet. Seeing Megan all laid out for her - it made her feel invincible, like a big shot.

Megan spread her legs. She pushed a hand between them, rubbing frantically. “A few more. Please, can I have a few more -”

Her skin was becoming a mottled, brilliant pink. Like flower petals. Joyce let her touch herself just enough to get close, and then she made her stop. Pinned her wrist to the bed.

“ _What_ ,” Megan said, hilariously enraged.

“That’s for me. _No_ , Megan - I get to do it.”

That worked for her. “Okay, Christ fuck _okay_ ,” she groaned. Her eyelids fluttered shut and her hips wiggled in Joyce’s lap. “Do it for me, please do it.”

“Promise to stay still?”

“Yes!”

Joyce pressed down on Megan’s clit with two fingers. She slid them back and forth, torturously slow. And then she hit Megan’s ass so briskly that the flesh bounced.

Whatever Megan was trying to say got lost in her shriek. Joyce felt the orgasm rip through her body; convulsing that started at her thighs and went all the way up.

Joyce was slick and pulsing between her legs. She could feel her own heartbeat. Still, she was perfectly willing to wait, to stroke Megan’s hair and heaving ribs as she came down. That’s exactly what she would have done, too, if she hadn’t been shoved down and had her legs yanked up over Megan’s shoulders.

“Whoa,” she said, and then Megan’s mouth was on her. Licking between her lips, along her slit and across her clit.

Joyce jerked, hissing out Megan’s name. She grabbed at the sheets for purchase.

Megan took the hint. She took the hint and then some, sucking on Joyce’s clit with almost punishing force, fucking merciless - her tongue never stopped moving - it was too _much_ -

\- until Joyce’s spine bowed and she came relentless and agonizing and perfect.

They rolled apart, wheezing for air like fish out of water.

“Holy shit,” Joyce said. Sensation was beginning to return to her limbs. She felt like she was in an altered state. She felt like she was on another _planet_.

“We are definitely doing that again,” Megan said.

 

 

Joyce sat on her bed with the phone to her ear. Across the country Peggy did the same, except for her it was her living room.

“Did you talk to her yet?” she asked.

Joyce scowled, which was a waste of effort since Peggy couldn’t see her. “ _No_.”

“For god’s sake, Joyce. Talk to her already. Tell her you want to be official. Ask her to wear your class ring.”

“What do you know about it,” Joyce complained. “Stan practically had to sit in your lap before you even knew he was interested in you.”

“Yeah, but I learned my lesson, didn’t I? I suppose it’s nice to know that lesbians are as emotionally constipated as straight people.”

“Peggy, you’re an asshole.”

“So are you,” she said. “That’s why we’re friends.”

“Did you tell Stan about us? What did he say?”

Peggy sighed in an aggrieved way. “He applauded. And he said to tell you not to squander the bounty you’ve been given.”

“Did he?” asked Joyce, pleased. “That shithead.”

 

 

Megan came in from her balcony. She was carrying a watering can and had a joint in her mouth. When Joyce looked up she handed it over wordlessly.

Joyce took a drag. She was sorting through some of her photographs - behind the scenes of shoots at work, people she’d met on the street, a bunch from when she and Megan went hiking through the canyons. Neither of them were really nature people, as it turned out, but the shots she got were great.

There were some at home that she didn’t include in her general collection; ones of Megan mussed from sex and lying in bed. She was laughing in most of them. “I’m not even wearing makeup,” she had said, but then let Joyce take the pictures anyway. Those weren’t for public consumption; at least not until they popped up to destroy their future political careers.

Joyce would be the first to admit her organization system was crap. Most of her photographs were in random, haphazardly labeled envelopes stuffed in a chest in her bedroom. She was gradually sorting them and putting them in binders dated by year.

“I like those,” said Megan. She meant a series Joyce had done when she first got to L.A. - abandoned buildings; hotels with neon signs gone dim forever and rotting canopies, apartments that hadn’t been inhabited since the thirties, an old theater with art deco doors. “I think you could do something with that.”

Joyce squinted at them, trying to imagine them framed and hanging in a gallery. It had never been her intention.

“Did you want to go pro?” Megan asked. She emptied the watering can into the sink and pulled a pitcher of lemonade out of the fridge.

“Once upon a time,” said Joyce. “But I don’t mind what I’m doing now. Plans change.”

Megan sat beside her on the couch and put her lemonade glass on the coffee table, careful of the photos. “My agent fired me. Did I tell you?”

“No,” said Joyce. “Are you okay?” She would have expected Megan to be upset. But she looked very calm.

“Honestly, at this point it’s almost a relief.” Megan shrugged and slouched against the back of the couch, face tilted towards the ceiling. “I’m so tired of that whole circus. I felt like I was throwing myself against a brick wall most days. And since I’ve been singing more, I thought -”

She stopped abruptly and laughed in self-depreciation, hands covering her face. “But that’s so stupid, isn’t it? All my dreams are little girl dreams.”

“Hey,” said Joyce. “I don’t see anything wrong with that. I think you’re a natural on stage - why shouldn’t you give it a shot? Besides, Richie Rich,” Joyce elbowed her in the side, “you’re loaded, so you can do pretty much anything you want.”

“Thank you,” said Megan. She kissed Joyce on the cheek. “You’re the best girlfriend ever. I should have started dating women years ago.”

Joyce stared at her, mouth dry. When she spoke her voice sounded hoarse and strange to her own ears. “What?”

“I… what did I say?” Megan asked, mystified. “Did I do something wrong?”

“You called me your girlfriend.”

“Are you not?” Megan asked. Her expression was stiff, hard around the mouth, like she was trying to keep her feelings from showing. “Have I - did I misunderstand what this was?”

Joyce exploded. She climbed on top of Megan, bearing her down to the cushions, kissing anything she could reach; Megan’s chin, her collarbones, the side of her neck. “Can I call you baby? Is that okay? What about kitten? Darling, gorgeous, babe? Honeybunches. Which one do you like?”

Megan was laughing again, sweeter now. Her lipstick was smeared and a slipper had fallen off one foot. “All of them,” she said. “I like all of them.”

 

 

 

 

 


End file.
